


In which Jon watches

by hellodestroya



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellodestroya/pseuds/hellodestroya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Jon watches

When Robb wakes up, it’s almost always early. Early for a Stark true born, anyway. There were things to be done, in the castle, and people to do them. Jon often woke early, and he spent time preparing for the day, talking to Ghost as he worked. There were times, when he awoke next to Robb, after talking and laughing late into the night. They would end up close, the bed warmed by their bodies and trapped by the furs and Robb would slumber for a while longer. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches. It isn’t often, and hardly ever outside the walls of their home, that Jon has time to just watch. To just see him. His hair was dark, but it held a pretty red tone to it that came from his Tully blood. Jon’s was just dark, a mass of curls that created a shadow around his face. It wasn’t as soft as Robb’s, but Robb didn’t seem to mind. His jaw was sharper then Jon’s, his lips thinner. His facial hair was almost lighter than the rest, the same shade as his eyebrows, not sparse or patchy, but fitting. Fitting for the heir to the North. He slept in little, the nights when they shared a bed. Layers made you sweat and sweat brought a chill. Skin and body heat and warm cloth kept them enough. His skin was pale, not from lack of sun, but just because of his mother. Not sickly pale, but creamy and speckled with the occasional freckle or scar.

Jon remembered most of Robb’s scars. He had been there when Robb had gotten them, hunts or stupid games or when he got in fights. He had one, across his knuckles, that Jon’s eyes lingered on occasionally while his hand rested on his bare chest. That scar was for Jon. From Theon, actually. Theon had said something particularly venomous, and Jon had already been having a difficult day. Robb had hit him so hard it made his lip spit and his teeth tore into the young Stark’s skin. They had all gotten a talking too about that one. His chest was covered with fine, dark hair, not thick yet, just enough to show he was becoming a man. His chest rose and fell, and Jon was sure he could tell time by it. He was so relaxed then, so peaceful. Sometimes, Jon wished that Robb could be like the always. He wasn’t rigid or stressed or angry or hurried. He was just like he had been when they were younger, and sometimes he even smile. Not a big smile, just a bit. Just a shadow of a smile, enough to make Jon wonder what he dreamed of. Maybe he would never know, but he could imagine. 

 

Robb had a beautiful mind, if a simple one. He didn’t read as much as he could, but he was smart in other ways, in ways even Jon was not. Robb’s eyes moved behind his lids, long lashes brushing the skin of his cheeks, lavender shadows from long days and long nights beneath them. When Robb slept, Jon felt like maybe the weight of the world, of the future, was lifted from him. It would not last, none of it would. But to see him, just watch and see, and memorize the planes of his face and the shade of his lips and the way his curls crushed under his head, that was something Jon treasured. Robb was beautiful, always. And it did well, he thought, to think of beautiful things, when the world could be so ugly.


End file.
